


Dinner and a Show

by Saiorse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Dean and Food, Fluff, Gen, Some Swearing, a flagrant disrespect for vegetarianism, for which dean is not apologetic, it's good, on the hard drive for a while, sam doesn't like it either, seriously though you watch SPN, some alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saiorse/pseuds/Saiorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants to go out for dinner. He's been pushing it for a while. You? A different story. </p>
<p>Total fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and a Show

**Author's Note:**

> First work. I originally imagined it as part of a grand OFC series I plan to write. I think it works better as a reader insert, though. PLEASE CRITIQUE!

                “Hey,” Dean called through the bunker. “You guys want to go and grab some dinner?” I looked up from my research and groaned. It wasn’t food that I had the objection to—it was the inevitable show Dean would make out of it. It didn’t matter which restaurant we went to—or even the type!—he’d somehow manage to make a mockery of us all.

                “I’ll order something in later,” I tried to beg off. I hunkered back down, hoping that he’d lose me in the stack of books I had in front of me. No dice.

                “No one around here delivers,” he told me, grinning wickedly. “And I’m thinking I might hit the bars later…” He swung the Impala’s keys around his finger to drive the point home. If I wanted to eat tonight, it would have to be with him and Sam. I’d been avoiding it for weeks now—I think he finally noticed.

                “I’ll go without,” I told him staunchly. He reached over and grabbed my arm, dragging me up from out of my chair. Despite how uncomfortable I usually thought they were—freakin’ wooden death traps, more like—I found myself wishing to be back in its confining embrace.

                It would mean that I didn’t have to endure the hell I was about to go through.

                “That’s not healthy!” he chastised. “What if we have to do a salt-n-burn in the middle of the night, sunshine? Gotta keep your strength up!”

                Sam poked his head around the corner, half-dressed and looking fresh from the shower. “What’s up?” he asked, sounding confused.

                “Dinner,” Dean announced. “You coming with to get your rabbit food?” Sam sighed and nodded, walking back to his room to finish getting ready. It had been a while since he got out for anything, either. So much for support from that quarter.

                “Can’t we just do a fast food run?” I pleaded, hoping to stave off the inevitable embarrassment. I could handle Dean hitting on whoever took our order. That was cake.

                Dean looked at me like the very thought was sacrilege. “You get me all worked up and expect me to settle for a _fast food burger_?”

                “You’re the one who started the whole thing!” I yelled. “Some of us have research to do!”

                “Uh-huh,” he agreed skeptically. My heart sank when he picked up the book I’d been browsing— _Good Omens_. The one by Terry Prachett and Neil Gaiman.

                What? It had a demon named Crowley in it. There could be some accurate intel in it. Plus it was amusing as hell, and we didn’t have much going on at the moment.

                “Research?” he asked, winking. “Could be worse.”

                “ _You’re_ the one who looks at porn instead of working,” I accuse. “Sam’s laptop is so riddled with viruses, I’m afraid to get onto Facebook.”

                “Why would you want to?” he countered. I had to admit, with all my old classmates getting married and popping out a procession of children, there wasn’t much to look at anymore. So it effectively shut down that portion of the argument.

                “Shut up,” I muttered irritably.

                “I will,” he agreed affably, “once I get my dinner. _Sam!_ ” he bellowed. Long hair peeked around the corner a moment afterward, heralding the arrival of the younger Winchester. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

                “Dean, it’s not like your food’s going to run away before you can eat it,” Sam told his brother.

                “That’s ‘cause I eat real food,” Dean countered. “Just worried about how you’re going to maintain that hulking mass.”

                “He can have mine!” I announced generously. Considering that I really liked to eat, it was a great sacrifice for me. But I couldn’t go out. Not today. Not for the next month or so, either. I didn’t like the idea of the consequences.

                “No can do,” Dean announced genially. “Come on. I’m _starving_!” he called, dragging me off to the Impala.

                I sat in the backseat, as per my usual, with an unusual amount of trepidation. Hunts were fine and good, but I wasn’t used to being a public spectacle. Ever since that time I puked onstage in the middle of the high school play, I couldn’t bear being the center of attention. It meant that hunting worked out rather well for me, once I learned how to look after myself. The Winchesters simply took all the flak while we got the job done.  

                “You okay?” Sam asked, noticing for the first time how worked up I was.

                “I’ll manage,” I squeaked. “Nothing I can’t handle, right?”

                “Dean, is this really a good idea?” he asked his brother. “She looks like she’s about to puke.”

                “I say we get steak,” Dean said, putting the car in gear. “Nobody pukes up steak.”

                I gulped audibly and stared out at the trees whizzing by. Dean was driving with his accustomed disregard towards speed limits, which meant that I’d arrive at the restaurant even faster than I expected. _That just means it’s going to get over with sooner, though_ , I tried to convince myself. No luck.

                We arrived at the place—surprisingly laid back for a steak joint—in less than twenty minutes. I had to pry myself out of the car, determined not to lose face now that we’d arrived. What can I say? I may not like the spotlight, but I have a hell of a lot of pride. Not the greatest combination.

                We got seated fairly quickly, too. It all led up to the moment of doom—Dean grabbed our waitress, declaring gleefully, “It’s her birthday!” and pointing at me. (Black Sabbath knew _nothing_ about the Hand of Doom. Just saying.) My stomach sank as the entire staff circled around us, singing. To make it worse, they couldn’t even hold a tune!

                I thought I was going to sink underneath the table with shame. Suddenly, a shot was slid in front of me—straight whiskey. I didn’t waste any time, tossing that sucker back for some liquid courage. By the time I finished coughing (I didn’t have nearly as much practice with booze as Sam and Dean—they drank it before I could get to it), everyone had sped off, leaving the three of us in an oasis of quiet.

                “Fuck you,” I spat at Dean. “Why the hell did I have to go through with that?”

                He smirked. “Hey, I bought a round, didn’t I?” It was then that I noticed that he and Sam had empties, too.

                “It’s all the same money,” I complained. Which was true. I’d blown through what I’d had from my basic office job in no time, leaving me dependent on the Winchesters’ skills at ‘acquiring’ it. Most borderline legal or outright illegal. Considering that it was what fed me, I didn’t complain. But I wasn’t about to learn it myself.

                “Bet you’re glad your dinner’s free, huh?” Dean taunted, smirking.

                “This is the _last_ time I let you make fake IDs,” I grumbled. “Seriously, what’s my name tonight?”

                He pouted. “You didn’t listen to them singing?” I kicked him under the table when the waitress arrived again. I was also wondering if I could convince Sam to undergo a makeover to look like me for the next month. Just like Dean to make up thirty IDs with sequential birthdays—just for free food.

                I’d find a way to get him back for that. I swear it.

               


End file.
